


Milo and Otis

by Butterfly



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-06
Updated: 2005-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After <i>Lockdown</i>, Teal'c has his apartment warming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milo and Otis

**Author's Note:**

> A request from [saffronhouse](http://saffronhouse.livejournal.com/), who asked for an Earth-based story with a nice smile from Teal'c.

“Don’t say anything about the gold tattoo,” Sam continued, shooting little glances back at Pete, unable to keep from shifting from foot to foot. “And please don’t even so much as go near politics – the General and Daniel perfected the art of arguing a subject to death. And whatever you do, don’t get in the middle; they only _look_ like they disagree.”

“Honey, you’re driving yourself crazy,” Pete said gently, reaching out to place a hand on her back, hoping that some of his calm would transfer over. “I doubt that they’re going to skin me alive and have me for the main course. You don’t need to be so jumpy.”

Sam sighed heavily, reaching out to knock on the apartment door. “You only say that because you don’t know them like I do.”

Which was only true – Samantha had spent years with this group of people. He’d met them a grand total of twice, and one of those times he’d been too busy being injured to notice anyone but Sam and the freaky chick with the laser hand. So, while he knew that Sam got nervous, he figured that caution was still the watchword of the day.

The door was opened almost as soon as Sam took her knuckles off the door.

Teal’c took up most of the doorway, a boulder of a man. And Pete was reminded that this was no gentle giant – Teal’c held himself like a soldier, the way Sam did. For a moment, his face was stone, eyes searching and clear, then the stone just seemed to melt away. His eyes sparkled, a warm smile crossing his lips as he inclined his head ever so slightly towards Sam and Pete.

“Colonel Carter, I am most pleased that you came to my apartment warming.” His voice was deep and rich – he sounded decades older than he looked. “And it is an honor to see you again, Pete Shanahan.”

“Likewise, sir,” Pete said, only barely remembering not to extend his hand – Sam’s list of instructions had been long and, to be honest, more than a little boring.

“Yeah, we’re all thrilled.” A rough voice interrupted from behind Teal’c. “Now get your asses in here so that we can stop heating the hallway.”

Teal’c stepped backward, formally motioning for them to enter and finally revealing the layout to the apartment. It was still very bare, clearly newly moved-into, and there was nothing up that seemed to reveal anything of the owner, apart from half a dozen red candles scattered about at various heights and a lush, green fern on an endtable.

And the two guys who were casually taking up what seemed to be most of the room.

Daniel Jackson, most often just ‘Daniel’ to Sam, was lying down on a couch that took up most of the side of the room.

Jack O’Neill was leaning against the wall, and Pete could only see his profile. Pete could vaguely remember him as the man who’d had Pete sign that confidentiality agreement and who’d escorted him out of Cheyenne Mountain the instant that their doctor had cleared him to leave. He'd still been a bit off his game. And, of course, O'Neill was the man who was ‘the General’ to Sam, said in many ways, but always with an undertone of respect and affection.

O’Neill’s attention wavered away from Pete and Sam after a quick wave hello and was focused back on Jackson, who seemed to be in the middle of some sort of lecture, complete with extensive arm motions.

“But sometimes, you have to trust yourself,” Jackson said, and he appeared to be wrapping up. “You have to believe in your instincts.”

“Your instincts used to lead you to beige and brown,” O’Neill commented, shooting an unreadable look at Jackson. “I was… we were all embarrassed to be seen in public with you. Right, Carter?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said, pulling off her coat and joining the conversation without seeming to need a moment to find her place. Yeah, she knew these guys pretty well. “Though I still have a fond spot in my heart for the blue plaid.”

“Yes, back when I was a tweedy academic, I dressed the part,” Jackson said, his gaze shifting over toward Sam. “But I’ve grown as a person since then and I’ve discovered solid colors.”

Though Jackson’s voice had an edge of a whine to it, his eyes behind his glasses were warm and happy.

"Solid colors don't make you look any less like a geek with the shirts that you pick out,” O’Neill said. "Genius, schmius, you _still_ have no clue how to dress yourself."

Jackson raised his eyebrows, his attention immediately shifting back towards O’Neill. "Well, Jack, since you're such a paragon of good taste, maybe you'd like to do my shopping for me from now on. I'd hate to see you go blind."

"I didn't say anything about the colors being too bright," O'Neill said breezily, waving a hand. "So, I'm not so worried about going blind."

"Oh, you should be," Jackson said, a hint of a threat in his voice, but nothing but softness in his eyes.

 _They fight like cats and dogs_ , Sam had warned him, but that wasn’t right at all. One of the things that he’d learned over the years was that it never paid to simply believe someone else, even someone he loved and trusted. And while Samantha might be a trained military officer and a scientist, she wasn’t a cop. And his instincts were telling him that there was something else at play here.

Every barb was softened with a teasing glance and there was no anger sharpening their words.

No, Jackson and O’Neill didn’t argue like adversaries, they argued in the way that implied that they _knew_ that they’d be arguing together for a very long time.

Pete had long since accepted that there were things that Sam absolutely couldn’t tell him. Anything directly involving National Security, of course. Current activities of the program, definitely. Her CO being involved with a civilian under his command would also fit in the ‘No Tell’ list.

Well, that was assuming that Sam knew in the first place, though she never talked around O’Neill and Jackson the way she did the Stargate stuff, never seemed at all on edge or twitchy about the way their relationship came off. They were friends, they argued, end of story.

A less observant man, or maybe just a less suspicious one, might buy that. But there was a fine line between friends and _friends_ , and something told him that these two had crossed that line a long time ago.

That sick feeling he’d been having about whether or not to ask Sam to marry him was fading away. Because he knew that Sam loved O’Neill, just from the way she said his title, but it was probably... _had to be_ simple companionship and affection. Brothers in arms, comrades of war, and all that jazz that soldiers had together.

Still, though the warning in his brain dimmed, it didn’t go out completely. Because it was always possible that Sam didn’t know, that she did love O’Neill. That his bad feelings would prove to be true in the end.

But there she was, flitting into the conversation and inserting a soft comment and then pulling back over to side next to him, leaving the guys to continue the conversation on their own.

And continue they did – O’Neill was leaning forward in the chair, meeting Jackson’s eyes as he said something too quiet for Pete to catch. Whatever it was brought a young, almost boyish smile to Jackson’s face. No, Pete decided, there wasn’t a chance in hell that Sam could miss the light in Jackson’s eyes when he smiled at O’Neill.

Pete had nothing to worry about.

Pete grinned at Sam, bundling his insecurities deep down where they belonged, just letting himself enjoy the moment. She’d introduced him to her friends, she’d convinced her bosses to continue trust him with one of the biggest secrets that he could ever imagine knowing. She loved him.

He was a hell of a lucky guy.

  
_~end~_   


  



End file.
